


a happy middle and a very happy start

by summerwoodsmoke



Category: North and South (UK TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, all around as canon compliant as it can be from someone who's only seen the 2004 miniseries, dixon being in love with maria? also canon, the character death is canon, with minutes to spare!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10031030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwoodsmoke/pseuds/summerwoodsmoke
Summary: the first time i saw you i broke a needle into my finger at the sight of you, and you gave me your handkerchief to wrap my hand, and it’s been decades since, but i’ve never forgotten it and you are still the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen, every time i look at you. i’ve loved you better than anyone else in the whole world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> dixon in episode two: I don’t pretend to love her as you do, but I’ve loved her better than anyone else in the whole world. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. The young Miss Beresford. I broke a needle into my finger, I was so nervous, and she bound my hand with her own handkerchief. And then, when she returned from the ball, she remembered to look in on me. She changed the handkerchief for another one. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Or seen since.
> 
> me: That's Not Straight
> 
> (i seriously was so overwhelmed by this i had to stop watching the show for almost an hour. i started writing this story at that point lol)

Dixon was sitting in the kitchen long after midnight, nursing her poor, stupid finger. She still had Miss Beresford’s handkerchief around it, though it was stained rust brown, now, and likely to stay such no matter how she washed it. Dixon furrowed her brow. The clear path of action would be to make her a new one, but a lady like Miss Beresford was more than capable of making her own handkerchiefs; why would she accept one from a maid like Dixon? Especially after she managed to make it seem to her new mistress like she had no skill whatsoever when it came to needlework.

Dixon snorted and shifted the handkerchief. After this many hours, the stained cloth was uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to get in trouble for taking something she shouldn’t, not even a rag, not on her first day. The handkerchief would serve until morning, when she could take the housekeeper’s direction. Dixon stood and took her candle, turning to leave only to jump at the sight of a silhouette in the doorway.

“Dixon, was it?” a slight voice asked. Dixon inhaled sharply. It was _her_. They must be back from the ball. And she’d come down here, this late? At least Dixon wasn’t holding a sharp object this time, but as Miss Beresford stepped towards the light, Dixon made sure her hold on the candlestick was firm.

“Yes, Miss,” Dixon finally replied. Miss Beresford was shorter than her by a few inches, and thinner by quite more than that. She’d heard one of the maids call her ‘mousy’ that morning, and she could see where the insult came from—Miss Beresford had a thin, pointed nose to match her thin body, and her hair brought no pretty description to mind, so mousy did seem to suit it best—but despite the supposed plainness of her new mistress, Dixon was quite sure she’d never seen so handsome a woman in her life.

“How is your hand?” Miss Beresford asked as she stepped closer. Dixon blinked and looked down at her hand, her index finger still throbbing slightly.

“It’s fine, Miss.” Dixon started when Miss Beresford took her hand, lifting it towards the candlelight and tutting softly. Her fingers tightened on the metal handle of the candlestick as Miss Beresford began to unwind the handkerchief. “M-miss, I—”

“It looks like it soaked through hours ago! A clean dressing would do it good, and I have another handkerchief right here.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—Miss—” Dixon fell silent as Miss Beresford ever so gently ran a finger against the wounded pad of her own. The lady was murmuring softly, but Dixon’s ears were ringing and didn’t catch a word of it. She could feel the beat of her heart in her finger, underneath Miss Beresford’s tender hands as she secured a new, clean handkerchief in place.

After she was done, Miss Beresford patted Dixon’s hand before letting go. She smiled up at her. “I’m glad you were still awake,” she said. “I was thinking about you at the ball. I wanted to look in and make sure you were alright.”

Dixon was fairly certain she wasn’t breathing. “O-oh,” she finally managed. “I thank you, Miss Beresford. I’m alright, though.”

Miss Beresford’s smile widened. “And I’m glad for it. I do hope you enjoy working here, Dixon. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, she turned and left, a girl of merely sixteen, the most beautiful thing Dixon had ever seen, and was quite sure she’d ever see her whole life.

“I’m sure I will,” Dixon breathed into the silent air, “Miss Beresford.”

 

* * *

 

Miss Maria was falling in love.

The entire household knew it. Maids liked to gossip when their families were out of sight, and it spread through the Beresford household like wildfire, the fact that the young Miss Beresford came home with an unshakeable grin almost every time she went out. On laundry day, all the maids helped regardless of station, and the undermaids tried to convince Dixon to share any details they didn’t know.

“I just keep her room. She doesn’t keep me in her confidence,” Dixon lied. She was thankful to get the day over with, not just for the sake of her sore hands, but also for her heart. It was easier to face the fact of Miss Maria’s infatuation when she heard of it from Miss Maria herself, rather than through the house staff’s stilted view of it. At least that way, she could see how happy it made Miss Maria.

“I’m terribly nervous,” Maria confided one night, as Dixon was brushing out her hair. (That was another lie Dixon kept from the lower staff, although it was just a white lie they probably saw through. Her official responsibilities did not extend beyond that of a chamber maid’s, but the Beresfords couldn’t afford three full time lady’s maids for the mistress and both daughters, and Maria had decided to give Cathy’s time solely to her mother and rely on Dixon’s help instead.)

“Why’s that, Miss?” Dixon asked, keeping her eyes on Maria’s hair. She remembered the kitchen maid, back on Dixon’s first day in the household, who had called this girl and her hair ‘mousy’. Something so shiny and soft as this meant Dixon had a hard time attaching a negative connotation to the adjective, regardless of its colour or ability to hold a curl.

“I need Father and Mother to warm up to and be receptive of Mr Hale. I’d hate for them to refuse him before he even steps foot in the door!”

Dixon paused. “They can’t refuse a man of the cloth, can they?”

Maria made a face at her in the mirror. “From paying a visit, of course not, Dixon, but from taking their eldest daughter’s hand in marriage? Quite possibly!”

Dixon went back to brushing. She would never breathe a word, but she quite agreed with Mr and Mrs Beresford’s opinion that Mr Hale was hardly worthy of their daughter. Clergymen were always good, respectable men, of course, but they were much lower in class than the Beresfords. Maria deserved someone who matched her in every way.

However, Maria also deserved what made her happy. Dixon had a hard time deciding which outweighed the other. It usually depended on whether Maria was in the room or not.

There was an aching irony in helping Maria go over the points she had come up with to convince her parents why marrying down would not be a bad thing. Women married down—it wasn’t common, but it was done, for the right man. (But _never_ for someone as lowly placed as Dixon. And, of course, never for a _woman_. Not _ever_.)

But Maria deserved what made her happy. So Dixon helped her lady prepare for bed, and go over reasons for her parents to let her marry a clergyman.

 

* * *

 

The doctor stepped out to share the happy news with Mr Hale, and the nurse went to work on cleaning up, leaving Maria, hair down, exhausted, and covered in sweat, holding her newborn child close to her chest, cooing down at him like there wasn’t anything else at all in the room. She looked up suddenly, her eyes searching until they found—

“Dixon! Dixon, come here!”

Dixon, helping the nurse, left the rags she’d been using to clean and approached her mistress.

“Dixon, isn’t he wonderful?” Maria asked, leaning back against the pillows.

“Aye. He’s just perfect.”

“We picked names earlier, one for a boy, one for a girl.”

“So, what is it then?”

“Frederick,” she said, her lips spreading into that wide smile Dixon was so familiar with. Dixon’s heart swelled at the sight of mother and child, of such a joyful moment with one she loved so much.

For a minute, she forgot about Mr Hale completely, as well as the doctor, and even the nurse, mere feet away. For a minute, it was simply Dixon and Maria, meeting Frederick. For a minute, it was just the three of them in their own world.

It was a very happy minute.

 

* * *

 

“Mistress, you really do have the most agreeable children,” Dixon said, rocking a quiet, wide-awake Margaret in her arms.

Maria laughed from where she sat at the table. “I thank you, Dixon.” She kept her eyes on little Frederick running about the garden. “God has blessed us indeed.” She turned to Dixon. “I can take her if you like, and you can sit and watch him.”

“Of course, Mistress.” Dixon handed over Margaret before sitting across Maria at the small garden table. She watched her mistress for a few seconds as she happily fussed over her daughter before facing the garden and Fred, who was on all fours in the grass. The garden here was merely a fraction in size to the Beresford’s. As was the house, for that matter.

Dixon had learned to love small, rural Helstone, and most things in it. It wasn’t the life she had expected for herself, nor the one she had wanted for her mistress, but the sun was beautiful, the air fresh and good, and every day she was at her mistress’ side.

The master’s work took him all around the parish, and thus often it was just Dixon, Maria, and the children at the house during the day. Dixon knew Maria missed her husband with him gone so much, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel anything near the same amount of distress.

Dixon _was_ warming up to Mr Hale. She didn’t hold the same distrust and dislike for the man as she did when she was nineteen and Maria eighteen, and he first came calling to the Beresford’s. And while living with and serving someone did not always equate a lack of animosity, Dixon recognized hers fading over time as she saw the way he was with Maria, with the children, and with his parishioners: good, and kind.

It didn’t mean she rejoiced in the man’s presence, of course. As stated, she knew she was rather too happy when he was gone rather than at home. But it did mean that there were no negative emotions in his presence, especially when he spent time with Frederick or held Margaret. When he tenderly looked to Maria, or stood close to her as though to share some secret, Dixon simply turned away and made herself busy, with the housework or the children. She was trying, honest, really trying to make sure there were no ill feelings from her around him. She figured there was no point in...baiting herself, when it came to Maria and her marriage.

But for today, at least, there was nothing around to rub her the wrong way and spoil her mood. There was simply the sun, and Frederick in the grass—pretending to be a cat, if she surmised correctly—and tiny, perfect Margaret in the arms of her mother, still the most beautiful creature Dixon ever did see.

 

* * *

 

“Dixon, I don’t think I’ve ever expressed...how dear you are to me.”

Dixon put down the linen she was folding and turned to Maria. She couldn’t find a response in her, so she simply waited for her mistress to go on.

Maria sat down at the table and sighed. “Most especially in this time of difficulty, but really, all my life...ever since we met, you have been my dearest companion.” She looked up and Dixon couldn’t help but meet her eye. The two of them were getting on in their years, Dixon knew, and this move to the north wouldn’t help Maria any, but for right now, her eyes were clear and bright. “Through leaving my family, and the children’s births, and Frederick, and now with the move, I could not have done it without you, dear Dixon.” Maria held out a hand, and Dixon stepped forward to take it. Maria squeezed it lightly.

“Mistress—” The look on her face made Dixon’s words stumble. It was beseeching. “Maria,” Dixon whispered, and Maria squeezed her hand again. “It has been my greatest joy in life, to be by your side. I do hope you know that, with all your heart. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

 

* * *

 

Maria died with her both her children at her side—a miracle Dixon couldn’t thank God enough for—and Dixon standing at the foot of her bed. Richard stayed in the doorway, too afraid to come any closer to death.

“She’s not gone?” Frederick pleaded his sister, and it was then that it hit Dixon that she was, indeed, gone, her last breath exhaled in this mortal coil. Dixon’s eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision of the most beautiful thing she’d seen all her life.

Of the person she had loved best in this world.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are much, much loved
> 
> you can find me for more rambling at twitter.com/alinastarkovas and tanosoka.tumblr.com


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